First
century Palestine must have been one scary place . . . why else would Jesus talk
about fear and worry so much, especially here in Luke Chapter 12? And historically, we know that life could be,
as they say, nasty, brutish and short. Take
the treacherous climate … please. It was so variable that the only ones who
could survive from a year of plenty, through the intervening lean years, were
folks like the rich fool who built ever larger barns to store his stuff. Brigands and thieves infested the Judean
roads, sickness stalked the land, and you were an old man at 35; an old woman
much younger. And don't get me started
on the Romans, who could commandeer what little crop you could eke out.
Fear
and anxiety stalked the land on little cat’s feet, and it was fear of very real
consequences, unlike the over-hyped, over-heated fear that sells deodorant and
politicians these days. And because it's
so over-exaggerated, especially in this, the Silly Season, Jesus’ teachings here
are especially relevant today. Afraid of
being killed? Remember that God is concerned even with the hairs of your
head. Worried about having the right
words when you speak about the gospel? The
Holy Spirit will give you the words to say.
Does fear of an uncertain future cause you to stash your possessions in
a spirit of greediness? Recall that you’re gonna die and then where will all your stuff be? Finally, are you worried about what you’re
going to eat or wear, or how you're gonna survive? Remember the ravens, or the lilies, for Pete’s sake. And remember that you're more than what food
and clothing you wear, and certainly more
than what church or country club you belong to, or what model and year of car
you drive.
And
now, in our passage, it's all built up to a head, and Jesus caps it off with a
command: “do not be afraid.” Fear not .
. . and I’m thinking “easy for you to
say, you're the Son of God, for whom God would send Angels, as ol’ scratch told him in the wilderness, we’re just
little ol’ mortals, and there’s
cataclysm around every corner, terrorists under every bush, tooth decay lurking
in our molars. We might get hit by a car,
knocked off a bridge, robbed by a junkie.
Lions, tigers and bears, oh my!”
And
the reason we’re not to fear, doesn't
seem, on the surface at least, to be much comfort: it's God’s good pleasure to give
us the kingdom. Well, isn't that a big help when we're trying to pay
taxes, when we're trying to stretch three and a half weeks of pay to four weeks
. . . We’re gonna get to go to the kingdom some day, but what about today? What about right now, right here, in Greenhills, USA?
Well—and
I realize that our translation doesn't reflect it, because there's no real
English equivalent—the Greek indicates that the giving was in the past. Perhaps the closest we can come is to say “it
is God’s good pleasure to have given the kingdom.” But the point is, we already have it. Which,
when you come to think of it, Jesus confirms elsewhere when he tells us the
kingdom is among us or within us.
So. We're not talking some future-tense,
pie-in-the-sky kind of deal here, we’re not talking about going to heaven when
we die, we’ve got this kingdom already—it's within us, and with
us, and all around us. So why so anxious? Why do we let tin-pot politicians, Madison
Avenue yuppies, and the Nightly News keep us in a constant state of anxiety if
we have it all, right here, right now?
Maybe
we're not feeling it. Or seeing
it. Or experiencing it. I mean,
it's really easy to talk about something, theorize about it, have an
intellectual knowledge of it, but it
doesn't become real unless we experience it. And that, I think, is what the rest of the
passage is about. I know it's not
obvious, I know it seems unrelated—one minute Jesus is talking about fear and making
moth-proof purses—whatever that means—and
then Bam! He's telling us to be alert
for the coming of the master, who’s coming from a wedding banquet—which we know
is 1st Century code for the kingdom itself. But if the master—God? The Son of Man?—is coming from the kingdom, which is already here,
already within us, then oy vey, does my head ever hurt.
The
fact is, this parable is usually interpreted eschatologically—it is assumed,
from the wedding banquet imagery, to be about the fulfillment of the kingdom of
God at the end of time when Jesus will return, as Paul says, with trumpets
blaring. But if the kingdom is within us, right now, could Jesus not be talking about the present? It would fit a lot better with the first part
of our passage, about not fearing because God has given us the kingdom . . . Be
alert, be watching for the master coming
from the wedding banquet, from the kingdom.
Be watching for signs of God, of the Kingdom
of God, which is all about, within not only you, but everyone around you.
Be dressed and ready to move, keep your running lights going so you can
spring into action. Watch out for signs
of the Son of Man, or the Spirit, or Jesus himself—who are also within us, remember—and be ready to help.
And
how will we recognize the Spirit of God when we see it? How will we recognize the work of God, of the
Spirit, which comes from the wedding banquet, the kingdom of God that is
within? Well, Jesus says, blessed are
those whom the master finds alert, finds ready
when he comes, because the master will “fasten his belt and have them sit down
to eat, and he will come and serve them.”
They will be served by the
master if they are ready for him, if they are alert and watching.
Keeping
watch for the master is a long tradition in Christianity. Advent is a season of watching and
preparation, and from early on, the Church has kept a Christmas vigil that symbolizes
waiting. Over the centuries, this evolved into the
midnight mass in Catholic and Episcopal Churches, and midnight services in
other denominations, including our own. In Benedictine monasticism, it is a
spiritual practice to keep watch for the Savior during their waking hours,
trying to see Christ who, as he told us, is in everyone. At Compline, the Night Prayer service immediately
before bed, the monks sing the Nunc
Dimittis, the Song of Simeon, which goes in part: my eyes have seen the
savior. And as they sing, they reflect on
where and in whom they have seen God that day, and let it accompany them into their
dreams.
The
very first thing the guiding team for Transformation 2.0 was asked to do be
alert for signs of the God at work. And
where were they to do that? In our neighborhood, on the streets and
sidewalks of Greenhills, Ohio. And those
in my group in GCCP Reads know I have reservations about the books we’re
exploring, but one thing I absolutely love is that they ask us to go on what
their author calls “prayer walks,” again in our neighborhood. And if you didn’t participate, I suggest that
you talk to someone who did, because
judging from the wrap-up conversation we had, it was a very interesting
experience.
All
of these exercises were done to help develop a watchfulness within us, an
awareness of where God might be working, where God might be serving, in our
neighborhood. And if we are alert for
this, we will be served as well. God
will metaphorically fasten God’s belt and have us sit down to eat, and will
come and serve us, and we will be blessed.
Other
religious traditions, especially eastern ones like Taoism and Buddhism, make
this alertness, this watchfulness a foundation of their practice. Anybody know what they call it? That's right—mindfulness. And this attitude has seeped out into the
secular world, because of its capacity to increase individual health and—yes—decrease
anxiety.
Which
brings us back, sisters and brothers, to where we started: do not fear, for it
is God’s good pleasure to have given us the Kingdom. In the end, all we have to do is make
ourselves aware of it. We have to find
it where it dwells both within and without,
and go there. Amen.
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